


The Delusion of Hope

by lyn452



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Incest, Politics, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: *Spoilers/Canon Compliant up to 8.04*Tyrion is pretty sure he doesn’t want any more new informationJon is pretty sure Ser Davos is supposed to be Lord Gendry’s problem nowDaenerys is pretty sure she’s sick of losing





	The Delusion of Hope

Tyrion prepared himself for the queen’s wrath, for her rage and desire for revenge. Grey Worm was determined to have the Mountain and Cersei’s heads. He couldn’t blame the commander. He hadn’t loved Missandei as the commander or the queen did, but he had liked her. Missandei was a kind and wise woman who never hurt anyone, never showed any cruelty despite how exposed she had been to it herself. He had not loved her, but he had respected and admired her. Tyrion knew the world would be a less shitty place if it had more Missandeis and fewer Cerseis in it.

He had no idea how to comfort the queen. He was at a loss to figure out how to tell her that despite the peaceful woman’s final words of vengeance, Queen Daenerys shouldn’t kill a pregnant woman. Shouldn’t burn the innocents of King’s Landing alive with the queen they were apparently seeking shelter with. He knew Daenerys was done hearing such things. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since taking off on Drogon, her only remaining dragon.

Tyrion knew that killed her as well. To have lost two of her three children, miracles of the world, taken from her so suddenly that she barely seemed to have time to process it. It was possible to replace Missandei’s position on the council, if not the woman herself, but there was no replacing Rhaegal.

But this is what the job of Hand was, you were responsible for keeping your ruler’s human emotions from overruling their sense and their duty. Tyrion took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was dark, so dark he didn’t even see the queen at first as his eyes adjusted. Then he saw her outline against the setting sun. She turned her head just enough to see who had dared enter, then back to the sea.

Tyrion had never seen the queen like this. She was wearing a simple shift for a dress, she wore no makeup and her hair only sported a few half finished braids. This was not the fearsome dragon queen, this was just a woman who was giving up.

The thought frightened Tyrion more than the queen spitting fire like a dragon. He remembered his father talking about Aerys. About how the king refused to groom himself or allow anyone to touch him after he’d been taken hostage. How that had been the start of the king’s madness.

“Your grace,” Tyrion said with a small bow. Daenerys didn’t react. Tyrion kept going, “Your grace, we need to talk. We need to plan. We need…”

“Rhaegar,” Daenerys interrupted him. Tyrion’s heart stopped at the name. He had figured the queen would never reveal Jon’s secret. “Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon,” the queen licked her lips before she continued. “Aerys, Rhaella, Viserys, Drogo, Rhaego, Rakharo, Irri, Sir Barristan, Viserian, Qhono, Sir Jorah, Rhaegal and Missandei. How much more am I expected to sacrifice for that fucking chair?”

Tyrion had never heard the queen swear before. He thought carefully before answering. “Nothing great was ever given, was ever earned, without a great cost.” How much had Cersei paid for her power? What did she really have left besides the Iron Throne?

“Only death pays for life,” Daenerys said. It wasn’t exactly what Tyrion meant, but he supposed it was the same concept.

“You knew this would be hard,” Tyrion said. “You knew it wouldn’t be easy to play the game of thrones.”

“Tell me, Lord Tyrion, did you always know about the baby or do you truly still care for your monster of a sister?” Daenerys’ words were like poison and Tyrion flinched at her tone. He probably deserved that, he knew. He couldn’t find the words to reply and he didn’t have to, as the queen continued. “My brother was a monster too. Did I ever tell you the story of how he died? He threatened to cut my baby from me. So Khal Drogo had his arms broken, forced him to kneel and poured molten gold over his head. He died begging for me to save him. “Dany, please,” he cried.”

Tyrion’s blood chilled. He had heard the stories, but never from Daenerys. He wasn’t quite sure what to say in response, torn between reprimand and sympathy. Though sympathy overruled for him, as Tyrion remembered his father’s last words. “You’re no son of mine.” Yes, he could sympathize with hating your cruel family member.

Again Daenerys continued for him, “I’m tired, Tyrion. I’m tired and I’m angry, and I just want this war finished.” Her eyes closed and her head tilted back and for a moment, Tyrion was awed by her beauty.

Tyrion decided to tell her the truth. “They’ll call you the mad queen if you burn down King’s Landing, if you kill innocents. It doesn’t matter what my sister did to push you into it. You’re struggling to rule the Seven Kingdoms now, but it would be worse after that. I know Aegon did it and was considered a fierce, ruthless warrior. But people don’t think of your ancestor, someone more legend than man, they think of your father. That’s the legacy you inherited, your grace. It’s not easy, but here we are."

Daenerys eyes opened and she regained some of her regal pose. She clasped her hands together, and looked in the direction where her dragon had made his nest. Drogon had been crying with his dragon song since their return, clearly missing his brothers. “We talked about succession when we were last at Dragonstone. Do you remember?”

“Yes, your grace,” Tyrion wondered about the change in topic. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it then, what had changed now?

Jon Snow’s sorrowful face appeared in his mind, but Tyrion refused to voice such a thing.

“I missed my last two moon’s blood,” Tyrion’s eyes widened at this information. “I thought it was stress. It happens sometimes. Missandei noticed I wasn’t eating much in the north, but I thought it was the food, too bland for my tastes. But this morning, when I was dressing myself, I couldn’t stand anything touching my breasts.” She fingered her loose shift dress. “It’s happened to me once before.”

Tyrion took a seat, floored by such information. Did Varys know, he wondered. He’d like to think the Spider wouldn’t have spoken of overthrowing Daenerys in favor of Jon if he did, but he couldn’t be sure. Marriage was the best solution. “When do you want the wedding to take place?”

Daenerys shook her head. “Jon’s not going to marry me.”

“He’s a man of honor, he will,” Tyrion knew that much was true.

Daenerys looked to Drogon’s nest again. “I’ve already lost a child once before, I couldn’t bear to lose another.” Her voice broke with emotion.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you and Jon,” Tyrion lied. “It’s a good match politically, as it would bring the north under your rule once and for all.” He softened his voice, “You love him and he loves you. You won’t find a better man. Let yourself be happy, my queen.”

Tyrion saw the tears in Daenerys eyes, saw the sorrowful look she tried to repress, but he didn’t point it out when she wiped the tears away and put on her queenly mask once more. She sat at the end of the table, drawing up what little height she had. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, as if they could hold her emotions in.

Her voice was back to cold, repressed fury. “You’ve come here to beg for the life of your sister’s child,” Daenerys gave him a glare that made Tyrion squirm. Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think she would show me the same mercy?”

Tyrion knew the answer, just as surely as the queen did. But he didn’t want to say it outloud. He still wasn’t ready to condemn his niece or nephew to death. There had to be a way to take Cersei alive, to spare the baby. Cersei was dead, he knew that, but the child...

Varys entered without knocking, “The Prince of Dorne has arrived, your grace. He brings 10,000 men with him.”

Daenerys’ eyes closed for a moment. She took in a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and commanded, “Keep him waiting. Send two handmaidens to my chambers. He’ll meet the Dragon Queen soon enough.”  Daenerys stood and left the room.

Varys studied Tyrion, as if trying to read on his face what they had discussed. Tyrion turned away from the too curious gaze, his fingers tapping on the table as he sorted through all the information he had, looking for a solution that would avoid carnage.

Varys didn’t move. So Tyrion said, “You are dismissed, Lord Varys.”

The Lord of Whispers’ head inclined, “Do Hands have that authority?”

“I can’t imagine you ever asked my father that question.” Tyrion looked at Varys who appeared confused. “You’ve outlived four kings you’ve served. How many Hands have you served with have you watched die, Lord Varys?”

The Spider left with a little bow at the question, his face gave away nothing. Tyrion wasn’t sure he’d ever hated the man more.

 

* * *

 

Jon was exhausted. He knew Sansa had had a point, his troops must be just as tired as him. Rest would have been welcomed after the Long Night.

But Daenerys had been right too, Cersei only grew stronger the longer they delayed. He climbed from his horse as the men made camp. Jon knew he should help, had learned in the Night’s Watch that even the Lord must hold his own, but he decided it could wait. He looked around, searching for Rhaegal.

Daenerys had said she would send the dragon to him so they could plan on Dragonstone, if he was healed enough. Perhaps the dragon was late or not healed enough. The thought worried Jon, Daenerys had assured him that dragons healed fast, what could the delay be?

He decided not to worry about it just yet. He would see and speak to the queen soon enough. Ser Davos was looking at him. His former Hand had been his shadow this entire trip, as if he knew Jon was hiding something and was trying to suss it out.

More likely it was just to wear Jon down. Davos had been pestering him about marrying Daenerys the entire trip. Jon saw the sense in it, knew it was probably the best move he could make, for Daenerys and for the realm. But he still hesitated, even if he couldn’t tell Davos why.

It was clearly frustrating the older man.

Honestly, it was frustrating Jon too. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to go back to when he didn’t know. He wanted to return to being happy with her. Even with all the worries he’d had of the Army of the Dead, he’d take them back rather than this twisting of his heart. He had always thought it would be a huge relief to finally stop worrying about the dead, and he was relieved, but he’d also thought that some of the infighting would leave with the Night King and his army.

But all the politics had returned full force and Jon felt like a fool for ever hoping otherwise. What had his father always said? Sometimes hope was the cruelest emotion the gods ever granted men.

Men find the truth of themselves when they are drunk or alone, his father had also once said. When Jon was drunk he’d wanted to fuck her. He hadn’t cared that she was his aunt; he thought only of the happiness he’d found on that boat. How he just wanted to go back to not knowing. He just wanted to celebrate living and life in the most primal way possible, but then his brain had stopped him.

If he’d been raised as a Targaryen instead of a Stark, it wouldn’t even bother him. If she’d been a cousin, it wouldn’t bother him, but a sister, a mother or an aunt, it was too close of a relation, according the the faith of the Old Gods. Jon wanted to throw it away, his belief in the gods had never been strong, not after everything he’d seen, but he couldn’t. Ned Stark’s teachings had always been his guide for morals and honor, and they had included faith.

It didn’t help that he didn’t know if he should be convincing himself that their relation didn’t matter or if he should be convincing himself it did. He’d advised Theon that he was both Stark and Greyjoy, but following his own advice was a bit more difficult. There were too many opposing forces between the Starks and Targaryens, both Daenerys and Sansa had made that clear enough. Jon didn’t know how to be both without betraying the other.

Davos interrupted his thoughts, “Lord Tyrion’s coming and he appears to have an army behind him.”

Jon looked in the same direction, surprised to find that Davos was right. The plan had been to spread their armies out and hold the remaining Dothraki in reserve. The Unsullied were supposed to be stationed on the other side of King’s Landing.

So who was following Tyrion?

When they got closer, Jon began to recognize the banners. Allyrion. Blackmont, Dalt, Dayne, and Manwoody.

Martell. These were Dornish troops. Jon knew little of Dorne despite having been born there. The thought made him uncomfortable. He should have been a Sand.

Tyrion hopped off of his horse when he got close enough. It hadn’t been graceful and the little man had nearly fell, but Jon made no comment on it. Jon’s eyes went to the commanders behind Tyrion, men he tried to place, but could only guess the identities of based on what banners they were beneath.

“I thought you were bringing me a dragon?” Jon said to Tyrion.

“Ah, well, I thought fresh troops might be a happy sight for you and your men.” Tyrion nodded to the lords behind him, “Dorne has sent their support to their queen, the true queen.” Tyrion lowered his voice. “They also sent their prince, who is keeping the queen company on Dragonstone.”

Jon’s stomach dropped. He could feel Davos’ glare. Jon couldn’t find the words to reply, but Davos stepped in for him. “They are a happy sight indeed.”

The formal introductions and greetings were exchanged, but Jon only reacted, his mind still focused on Dany with a Dornish prince. What did Tyrion mean by those words?

Finally Jon snapped out of it, looking up. “Where’s Rhaegal?”

Tyrion looked down, sorrow filling his face. “Euron Greyjoy. He took out the flight and the dragon.”

Jon could hardly believe it. He’d seen Viserion fall, but that was one world wonder taking out another. How did a mere man do such a thing? Daenerys would be devastated he knew. He lowered his voice, “How is the queen doing?”

Tyrion glanced to the Dornish lords as if to say, not now. Jon understood, but he wanted to know. Daenerys had been destroyed by Viserian’s death, he didn’t want to think how she might handle losing another dragon so soon.

He should have been there. Jon thought. He might have been able to steer Rhaegal away. He might have saved her son. He might have comforted her after the loss at least.

He might have died with the dragon.

Jon let it go, letting Tyrion lead them to the waiting ship to take them back to Dragonstone. The journey was quick, but Jon hadn’t been kidding when he said dragons had ruined horses for him. Even boats seemed slow to him now.

Jon’s heart ached for Rhaegal. He hadn’t known the dragon well, despite being his rider. But he had felt some connection to him. In the moment, Jon wished Ghost was with him. He could use the comfort of another mythical creature he’d raised since he was a pup.

But the south was no place for a direwolf. His friend was better off where he was. He now regretted not giving Ghost one last pet, but he had feared he might break down and cry, clutching his wolf to him if he had. It wouldn’t have been a good image for a Warden of the North.

Jon didn’t think he belonged this far south either, but he knew it was necessary. Tyrion kept looking at him, as if he were a puzzle to solve. “Did you need something, Lord Lannister?”

Tyrion seemed startled by the question, “No, I...I have to go see to something with the ship.”

It was a shit excuse, but Jon didn’t bother questioning it. He wondered what had gotten into the Queen’s Hand, but Davos took Tyrion’s place, not giving Jon any time to wonder for long. Davos didn’t wait to bluntly state his point. “So the queen’s being courted by a Dornish prince.”

Jon closed his eyes against his automatic annoyance. “You don’t know that.”

“It's what he should be doing. It’s what I told you to do when we last sailed to Dragonstone. I told you to woo her, but instead you started right in on the Army of the Dead.”

“We didn’t have time to play games. And I wouldn't deceive her like that. She deserved the truth.”

Davos looked at Jon, his jaw working. “I guess it worked anyway. You got her dragonglass, her armies, her dragons, and her.” He looked to Jon with a raised eyebrow, looking for a reaction. “For a time you had her anyway.”

Jon sighed. He didn’t want to talk about this. “Davos…” Jon had no words to explain though, so he just hoped the older man would drop it.

But of course, Davos didn’t. “May I speak freely, Jon?”

The other man so rarely used his first name that Jon didn’t think to point out that Gendry Baratheon was his lord now, not Jon Snow. Still, Jon nodded.

“I never took you for a coward. Are you really going to watch the woman you love marry another man?”

“The prince is keeping her company that hardly makes a marriage proposal.”

“No, but you can be sure it’s coming. Not all lords are as foolish as you. Daenerys is a queen, a beautiful one at that. She has no lack of suitors. The Dornish Prince, Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord Robin Arryn, she’ll probably give Riverrun back to Edmund Tully, and she’ll probably gift the Reach to some deserving lord as well. I almost forgot, Lord Lannister, Warden in the West.” Davos turned to face Jon fully. “Plus whoever she left in Essos. The queen won’t wait forever for some stubborn northern fool. So what is the real reason you hesitate?”

It wasn’t fair. Jon knew that, but it was the only excuse he could think of besides the truth. “She can’t have children. I don’t care, and I’m not sure it’s true, but other lords…” Jon felt sick at the comfort it gave him to think of that.

“Dornish men don’t distinguish a difference between lawful and natural children. It wouldn’t bother him either. He’d just take a lover.”

Jon felt rage at the thought of anyone disrespecting the queen like that, and finally understood a bit of why Caitlyn could never look at him with love, even if it had all been a lie. “No man would dare.”

“Plenty of kings have dared. Her own father and brother included.”

Jon’s heart stopped at the mention of Rhaegar Targaryen. Yes, he had dared, and Jon had been the result of the affair. How many had died in the Rebellion that had resulted from his parents’ loving each other? How many died so that he might exist?

Ned Stark alone had sacrificed his honor to save Jon, had taken the secret to his grave. Jon suddenly wondered if he had told Benjen. His uncle had always treated him specially. Did he know? Jon wished he could ask him.

Davos shook his head at Jon’s brooding. “But what do I know? It can never be easy with you. Marry the woman you love, unite the north with the Iron Throne permanently through the marriage, no, you have your reasons.” Davos moved to walk away. “But if you reject her, she won’t remain single.”

He left Jon to his brooding. Little did he know, Jon had already rejected her, or at least her wishes. Part of him wanted to take it back, wished he could go back in time and listen to her. No one needed to know. Not even him. What in the hells were Bran’s powers, maybe he had a way?

But Jon had made his choice, did what he thought was honorable. Still, he couldn’t let her go, he still loved her. He still wanted her. He just wasn’t sure if he should anymore.

Jon knew it wasn’t fair, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to consider another woman for a bride. She had ruined him for other women. Who could possibly live up to her? Even if she was never his again, his heart would still remain with her.

Didn’t she feel the same about him? Could she really marry another man?

 

* * *

 

Prince Quentyn Martell was a nice young man, a cousin to the Martells she’d known before. He was courteous and bookish and probably the most boring man Daenerys had ever met. She tried to be fair, he didn’t seem cruel and he was clearly loyal, as he had showed up with his army in her hour of need. And he looked at her more with awe than lust. She had seen such awe turn to love many times before.

He made her think of Jorah, which pained her. She knew if they married, Quentyn would always love her in a way she wouldn’t be able to return. She might grow to care for him, but she couldn’t imagine ever loving him.

She remember Barristan telling her how Rhaegar had been fond of Elia Martell. Daenerys had thought it a strange emotion for a man to feel towards his wife, but she understood now. She would be fond of Quentyn Martell. She would give him his due as her husband and consort, even share his bed.

But Quentyn Martell would never be Jon Snow. If she was Rhaegar, then he must be her Lyanna, Daenerys thought sardonically. Damn him. Damn Jon Snow. Damn his dark eyes. Damn his comely face. Damn his scarred chest. Damn his perfect ass. Damn all of him.

Most of all, damn his honor. Damn him for reducing her to begging and then breaking her heart. Damn him for ever making her fall in love with him.

Daenerys pushed such thoughts away. None of this mattered now. She needed to focus on Cersei and the war. She would not let Rhaegal and Missandei die in vain. She had once swore that anyone who harmed one of her people would die screaming, and it was a promise she intended to honor.

There was a knock at her door. Daenerys wasn’t sure she wanted to see anyone right now, but she knew it might be important. “Enter.”

Jon walked in.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He hadn’t changed obviously, in the weeks they’d been apart, but still, all of her feelings for the man flooded in. She tried to stop the tide, but damn him. She turned away from him, fearful there might be tears in her eyes.

Damn herself for feeling this way. Dragons don’t cry.

But Viserys had been wrong when he told her that. No dragons didn’t shed tears, but Drogon had been crying for his brothers. Daenerys had comforted him this afternoon. (Quentyn had followed her, but the dragon had clearly terrified him. He’d been relieved when she asked him to leave. It had made her miss Jon, made her think of Jon’s first interaction with Drogon.)

She collected herself and then faced Jon, queen firmly in place. He didn’t seem impressed, but then when had Jon ever been cowed by the Dragon Queen?

Dany hadn’t had much luck with him either, not when it really mattered.

“How are your troops?” Daenerys decided she could keep this professional. He was her warden, nothing more.

“Fine. Tired, but the Dornish troops were a relief to most of them. The numbers are back in our favor now, even…” Jon’s eyes softened. “I’m so sorry about Rhaegal. I…”

Daenerys cut him off, not wanting his comfort and wanting it desperately. “You can’t take the blame for this dragon too, Jon. You weren’t even here.”

He didn’t let her excuse him, of course. “I should have been here. Dany, I…”

Again Daenerys cut him off, not wanting to feel anything in his presence, she felt enough about him already, “Did Ser Davos come with you to Dragonstone?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he answered curtly. “He wanted to speak with Lord Gendry, I believe.”

He was in the forge. Tyrion had said that lords didn’t belong in forges, but Daenerys liked having a lord with a useful skill. “If you see him, please send him my way. I would like to speak to him.”

“About?”

Daenerys knew she didn’t owe Jon any information, but she answered, “About Flea Bottom. About the people of King’s Landing.”

“Didn’t Tyrion tell you?”

“Of course, but lords rarely understand the common man’s life. It’s too far removed from their own.” And she didn’t trust Varys enough to not want a second opinion.

Jon nodded. He hesitated and then said, “I heard about Missandei too.”

Daenerys’ mask cracked a bit at that. She couldn’t get the image from her head, her friend’s headless body falling from the top of that gate. Missandei back in chains. How had Daenerys failed to protect her. How Cersei would pay. “Her last word was dracarys.”

“What does that mean?” Jon asked.

He hadn’t learned the Valyrian commands for the dragon. There hadn’t been time. “Dragonfire.”

Jon’s eyes widened and he licked his lips. “Have the battle plans changed?”

“Not yet,” Daenerys wasn’t ready to share her thoughts. She was starting to think her plans went better when her advisors were ignorant of them.

“Yet?” Jon continued to question. “Daenerys, nothing has changed. You can’t…”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Daenerys growled.

“If you burn the Red Keep and King’s Landing to the ground, thousands, maybe a million innocents will get killed along with Cersei. You are better than her. Don’t let that mad woman tear you down to her level.” Jon stepped in closer to her.

Daenerys stepped back. “If you’re finished, you can leave.”

“No, we still need to talk.”

Daenerys sighed and looked away. She longed for a glass of wine, but she didn’t want to risk it. She wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just stress, but she knew drinking wasn’t good for babies. A Dothraki medicine woman had told her to avoid it when she’d been carrying Rhaego.

But she didn’t force him away. So Jon stayed. “I told them, I told my family the truth.”

Daenerys wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt to hear. She had begged this man. She thought of Viserys, the Beggar King they had called him. Targaryen pride was too strong to bear such a title. Little wonder he’d gone mad. She couldn’t stand that she’d begged, even with it being a private thing.

She would never rest easy on that throne, even if she managed to win it. Not if Sansa Stark had information that could destroy her at any time. Jon had once told her that a familiar refrain between him and Arya as children was don’t tell Sansa. How had he been wiser as a child than he was as a man?

Suddenly, she was exhausted. She was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of earning. Tired of living. She just wanted to rest. Just wanted a house with a red door and a lemon tree. She didn’t have the energy for Jon or his honor, “What do you want, Jon? I’ve given you my armies, my dragons, myself, my everything. The only thing I have left is the throne and you can take that too, so if you’re going to do it, just do it. And leave me to rest in peace on Dragonstone. Please, that’s all I ask of you.”

Jon’s temper flared up. How had she never seen the Targaryen in him before? It was so obvious now. “I told you already, I don’t want it.”

“And I told you it doesn’t matter what you want.”

They were silent for a moment, both angry. Jon broke it with “Tell me about Quentyn Martell.”

“Don’t,” Daenerys said with an edge.

Jon either didn’t hear or ignored her anger, baiting her instead. “Is he to stay on Dragonstone with you?”

“You don’t get to do that, Jon. Not when you walked away from me. Not when you were the one that pulled away, even after you initiated it.”

He reacted as if though she’d hit him. He worried his lip between his teeth before he asked, “It doesn’t bother you?”

Daenerys roughly puffed out a snort of air. “We’re Targaryens, we answer to no gods and no men. I cried when I first learned I wouldn’t marry Viserys, as he had always told me we would. And he wasn’t half the man you are. So, no, Jon, the relation doesn’t bother me.” She sighed. “What do you want, Jon?”

Jon looked away from her, to the fireplace and the wood burning within. “I was raised a bastard. Bastards aren’t allowed to want anything. We’re greedy and disloyal and untrustworthy. Always coveting what trueborns had, and I did. I did envy my brother, even though I loved him. I always tried to fight against it. Always tried to overcome my tainted blood.” Jon gave a sad snort of laughter. “Which turned out to be total bollocks, the only blood I had in me was that of the dragon.” Jon shook his head. “I never dared to want anything.”

Daenerys wanted to throw him out, but she couldn’t. Instead she looked at him, her lovely Jon. He said, “I love you, Dany. And I’m trying. I’m trying to change that love into…” Jon looked away for a moment before returning to her gaze. “...into something more appropriate.” His eyes closed. “But I can’t. You aren’t my family. Not...not in that way. You’re...please, don’t make me watch you marry another man. I love you. I...I don’t care about the fucking throne or the politics or any of it.”

Daenerys tried to sort through his rambling. “Jon…”

He cut her off. “You.” He stepped forward. “I want you. Gods help me, I’m trying not to, but I want you.”

Daenerys knew there was more to talk about, more to think through. He may not care about the throne or the politics, but others would. They had to be smart about this. She knew that.

But she was sick of thinking, done with talking. She turned from Jon and began to undress. He seemed confused for a moment, then torn, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

He stayed. His eyes never strayed from her body. As she removed her fur coat, her riding leathers, her boots, his eyes took in every inch of her. Soon she was wearing nothing at all. Gathering up her courage, as she knew another rejection from him would destroy her, she walked towards him. His eyes never left her.

Daenerys stood in front of Jon and waited, waited for him to make up his mind. She had gotten used to ordering, she realized. She had commanded Daario to strip, had even playfully done it with Jon. But she didn’t want him to be forced into this. She didn’t want him to feel tricked or manipulated. She just wanted him. She wanted him to choose her.

Jon starred at her, his eyes sweeping over her form with lust. His pupils blown wide when his eyes finally met hers. She could see it there in the depths of his eyes; he still loved her. He loved her.

But she saw the conflict too. She saw the torn emotions that never used to be there. She missed the purity of his gaze. She had never thought to cherish it, as she had thought she would have it forever.

Stupid girl. Daenerys moved to walk away, but Jon reached out a hand and stopped her.

“Marry me,” he said.

Daenerys turned back to face him. “What?”

“Marry me. That solves it, doesn’t it? The throne, the politics. The north will be yours and even if the truth gets out, it won’t matter. What kind of husband goes to war against his wife?”

A Targaryen one, Daenerys thought, but she wouldn’t say it to him. She bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jon replied. “Fuck the old gods. They didn’t save my home, you did.”

Targaryens answered to no gods or men. Daenerys smiled and Jon returned it. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him into a kiss. He returned it, like he did before he knew the truth. He put a hand on the small of her back to draw her in closer.

His lips were just as she remembered, and there was no ale on his breath this time. This was the Jon she had known, the Jon she had fallen in love with. When they were forced to break apart, Jon smiled a bit, his eyes locked with hers. “Was that a yes?”

Daenerys didn’t answer, instead she pulled on his belt to begin undressing him. He moved to help her, but she pushed his hands away. She wanted to do this. She wanted him to know that her feelings hadn’t changed, would never change. She undressed him slowly. Peeling each layer away and he let her. He kissed any part of her that came close enough, her hair, her forehead, her eye (which Daenerys wasn’t sure she appreciated so much). When he was as naked as she was, she stopped again, looking up to him, letting him lead, wanting him to make the first move.

He didn’t make her wait this time. Instead he bent over and gathered her up into his arms, kissing her again. Daenerys’ hand dove into his hair, happy to finally have it fully down. Jon laid her down on the bed gently, still kissing her like he’d never kissed before.

She forced him back so she could look at him, look into his eyes. There she saw it again, the love. The conflict hadn’t quite gone away, but it seemed more subdued now. His thumb caressed her cheek and he kissed her again.

Jon’s hands moved down her neck to her breasts, and he massaged each of them in turn. He broke off from kissing her to take a nipple into his mouth, suckling her.

Like a babe, Daenerys pushed the thought away, not wanting to get her hopes up or his. But Jon deserved to know, but she hadn’t wanted to know his secret before the Long Night, was it fair for her to tell him hers before this battle?

Or was it unfair not to? Daenerys didn’t know. She didn’t want to think anymore, she just wanted to enjoy this. Jon looked up, studying her as if wondering where she was. Daenerys smiled at him, and brought his lips up to meet hers once more.

She reached down, grabbing for him, lining him up as she brought her legs around his hips. Gods, she had missed this. She had missed him.

Jon must have felt the same for he thrusted home without preamble, causing Daenerys’ head to fall to the side and moan. It didn’t take long for them to establish a rhythm, a slow greeting and welcome home, which morphed into hard thrusts and clawed backs.

Fire and blood, Daenerys thought, they weren’t their house words for nothing. She pushed up, taking Jon’s lip between her teeth and biting down in the rough way she knew he loved. That hadn’t changed either. He moaned and went faster, harder.

It didn’t take long for them to fall apart. Jon didn’t even let her come down from her first high before flipping them over and encouraging her to ride him to another completion. She didn’t deny him, grinding herself against him.

When they finally finished, sated for now. Daenerys saw the doubts return to Jon’s eyes, saw the conflict return. She brought up a hand to caress his cheek, “Let it wait, my love. You can worry and brood tomorrow. Let us have tonight.”

Let it wait. They could face it all tomorrow.

Together.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This will never happen on screen. I know that. But I still believe that Daenerys is not a mad queen; she is a hero (if a complex one), and this is the low point before the climax. She and Cersei are foils who lost everything on their quest for the throne, but Daenerys will rise up and she will do better. I know hope is a dangerous thing with GOT, but I will remain optimistic for the next fortnight and I will go down with this ship.


End file.
